Chapter 3: Contracting a Clay Kiln

Chapter 3: Contracting a Clay Kiln

"Sister, can you add a bit more oil?"

"I'd like to, but look at the oil tank. The oil inside has to last us until the end of the year. If we don't use it sparingly, how will we make it through?"

When Deng Shirong returned home, he saw his eldest daughter, Deng Yunzhen, frying dried radish in the kitchen, while his second son, Deng Yunheng, was helping to light the fire, his eyes fixed on the oil tank on the stove.

Deng Shirong immediately understood. Today was Sunday, and his second son, who was in high school, would soon have to return to school. Since his school was in Songshan Commune, it would take him over three hours to walk there, so he had to leave after lunch.

Now, his eldest daughter was preparing pickles and a bottle of fried radish for him. This would be his food for the next week at school.

Deng Shirong walked closer and saw that the dried radish in the pot was almost done. However, because his eldest daughter had been reluctant to add much oil, the radish looked dry and unappetizing.

"Dad!"

Seeing Deng Shirong approach, the siblings greeted him together.

Deng Shirong acknowledged them with a hum, then picked up the spoon from the oil can, scooped up a lump of lard about the size of an egg, and tossed it into the pot.

As the lard hit the hot wok, it quickly melted, sizzling loudly. A rich, oily aroma instantly filled the air, startling both siblings.

Deng Shirong took the spatula from his eldest daughter and gave the radish a quick stir-fry. Then, he scooped the fried radish into a prepared glass bottle.

Looking at the now glossy and juicy dried radish in the bottle, Deng Yunheng asked in disbelief, "Dad, are you really letting me take this to school?"

Deng Shirong hummed again, then pulled two yuan from his pocket and handed it to his son. "It's not good to eat dried radish every day. Take this money and buy some other dishes from the school canteen to change things up."

Deng Yunheng was completely stunned. He had been in high school for almost a year, and this was the first time he had received such generous treatment.

Deng Yunzhen was equally shocked. She had already been surprised when her father added so much oil to the radish, but she never expected him to give her brother two yuan as living expenses. This completely overturned her expectations.

Had her father struck it rich?

Seeing the stunned expressions on his children's faces, Deng Shirong reached out and patted his second son on the shoulder, speaking earnestly, "Yunheng, you must study hard at school. The country places great importance on education now, and studying is the only way out for us rural folk.

You'll graduate from high school in a year. If you don't get into college, you'll have to come back and do hard labor. But if you can get into college, your future will be full of possibilities.

I'm not sure how much of this you'll take to heart now, but I'll do my best to make sure you have enough to eat and eat well at school, so you don't have to worry about that.

As for whether you can get into college, that's up to you. No one else can help you. It all depends on your own efforts."

In his previous life, aside from his eldest son who had died young, Deng Shirong had been most heartbroken by the path his second son had taken.

After graduating from high school, Deng Yunheng had failed to get into college and had to return home to work in the family's tile factory, learning the craft of making large jars from his father.

Deng Yunheng was smart, quick-witted, and highly skilled. While it usually took others two or three years to become a master jar maker, he had mastered the craft in just over a month.

In the 1980s, being a master jar maker was a highly respected position in the countryside.

In the tile factory's division of labor, there were those who carried mud, those who treaded mud, those who made fine goods, and those who made large goods...

Among them, carrying mud was the most physically demanding and lowest-paid job. You could earn about one yuan and fifty fen a day, working from morning to night. Even so, many people were eager to do it, as there were few ways to earn money in the countryside at that time.

Treading mud required a bit more skill and paid about two yuan a day.

Making fine goods, such as basins, bowls, jars, and pots, required even more skill and could earn you five or six yuan a day if you worked hard.

The master jar makers, who made large goods, were at the top of the hierarchy. They could earn seven or eight yuan a day on average, but Deng Yunheng, with his exceptional speed and skill, could make eleven or twelve yuan a day.

This was an excellent income, even in the cities, let alone in the countryside. It was a lucrative career by any standard.

If the tile and jar market hadn't declined, Deng Yunheng might have spent his entire life as a jar maker, working until he could no longer lift a tool.

Unfortunately, the tile factory's fortunes began to wane after a few years.

As work became scarcer, some people in the factory turned to gambling. It was during this time that Deng Yunheng fell into the trap of gambling and eventually became a professional gambler.

Now that he had been reborn, Deng Shirong was determined not to let his second son follow the same path. That was why he had spoken so earnestly, urging him to study hard and get into university. If that didn't work out, he would arrange for him to do something else.

In short, he would do everything he could to keep him from falling into the abyss of gambling.

Deng Yunheng was naturally clever. He looked at the bottle of oily dried radish on the stove and the two yuan in his hand, then nodded solemnly. "Dad, I understand. I'll study hard."

…

For lunch, the Deng family ate sweet potatoes.

The Thatchfield Production Team, where Deng Shirong lived, was part of the Bangjie Brigade in Songshan Commune, Bobai County, Guangxi. This was the southernmost part of China, where the staple diet consisted of white porridge in the morning and evening, and whole grains like sweet potatoes, cassava, and taro at noon.

Of course, this was the basic diet. Whether a family could eat enough depended on their financial situation. Poorer families often had porridge so thin it was little more than water, leaving them hungry soon after eating.

As a jar maker, Deng Shirong's family had been relatively well-off in the early years. However, after his wife passed away and he had to support his children's education, their living conditions had worsened.

Still, they could afford three meals a day—white porridge and whole grains—enough to feed the whole family.

After lunch, Deng Yunheng packed a small bag of rice, took the bottle of oily dried radish, and tucked the two yuan his father had given him into his pocket. Under the envious gazes of his siblings, he walked out of the house and set off for the school dozens of miles away, his head held high.

Deng Shirong noticed the longing in his children's eyes.

The night before, he had counted his assets and found that his total net worth was only 136 yuan.

One hundred yuan of that had been used as the contract fee for the tile kiln, and two yuan had been given to his second son as living expenses, leaving him with only 34 yuan.

Originally, this money was meant to cover the tuition fees for his four sons. The tuition for his second son, who was in high school, was the most expensive at 19.5 yuan per semester.

His third son, Deng Yunsong, would be starting junior high school next semester, while his fourth and youngest sons were in elementary school. Although their tuition fees were much lower than high school, they still added up to a significant amount.

If this had been Deng Shirong from his previous life, he would have clung tightly to the remaining 34 yuan, not daring to spend a single fen unnecessarily. After all, making money in the countryside during this era was incredibly difficult.

Until the tile factory started generating income, every expense had to be carefully managed.

However, the reborn Deng Shirong had a different perspective. He had a plan in mind. Turning to his eldest daughter, he said, "Ah Zhen, cook dinner tonight. I'll make scrambled eggs with green peppers for you and your siblings."

At these words, even Deng Yuntai, who was already 20 years old, couldn't help but swallow his saliva. As for the younger ones—Yunsong, Yunhua, and Yunheng—they jumped for joy.

(End of this chapter)